


Please Remain Seated

by IWalkInAir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Crowley, BAMF Bobby, BAMF Crowley, Bobby in a Wheelchair, Crobby - Freeform, Crowley is a Little Shit, Kidnapping, M/M, Only two chapters, Rating May Change, Sort of an AU, or should i say Mannapping, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWalkInAir/pseuds/IWalkInAir
Summary: “Feisty. I like it.” A strangely familiar voice commented, “Though to be honest….” The weapon was returned to Bobby's lap. “I'd prefer it if you would please remain seated and keep all extremities and fire arms within the ride at all times.”OR..Bobby's just trying to help his boys out with a little witch problem when he is quite literally taken by a devilishly demonic problem of his own.





	1. Hello

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Crowley has yet to make the deal with Bobby and restore his legs. Also, it is implied that he has had many more interactions with the Winchesters and Bobby at that time than there was in the actual show.

Witches were always a nasty business and commonly one of a hunter's least favorite jobs.

For some it was the dealings with entrails, blood and other bodily fluids as Dean had vocalized on multiple occasions. For others, they often found their fingers stiff and reluctant to pull the trigger on a fellow human being.

For Bobby it was witches' cocky smirks and general better-than-thou attitudes as the majority of them unknowingly sold their souls to the demons providing their powers.

The particular witch they'd targeted, who made the mistake of announcing her presence to the world in hopes of attracting other's of her kind and form a coven, was exceedingly egotistical.

The boys were entering from the front and side entrances with the elder man stationed at the back (just in case).

In other words, once again they decided it would be safer for “poor ol’ handicapped” Bobby to sit on the sidelines. The idjits just too concerned to up and say they saw him as a liability.

Well screw it.

He approached the door, gun at the ready (aka resting firmly in his lap while his arms pushed his chair forward). He maneuvered to slightly angle himself and reach for the door knob when his seat began to roll back. It took him a moment to register that the ground was in fact level and gravity was not to blame.

By reflex he slammed his left elbow against the fingers gripping one of the handles, his free hand aiming the gun.

His assailant let out an annoyed huff and managed to avoid a face full of rock salt, grabbing the gun’s barrel and retching it from the hunter's grasp.

“Feisty. I like it.” A strangely familiar voice commented, “Though to be honest….”

The weapon was returned to Bobby's lap.

“I'd prefer it if you would please remain seated and keep all extremities and fire arms within the ride at all times.”

He knew that voice, just couldn’t match a face to it. As he craned his head back he remembered why.

“Crowley?” he sighed.

“In the flesh… though I guess that’s not entirely true.”

The demon smirked down at his catch, wheeling him away from the little café Bobby and the Winchester’s had been surrounding.

Bobby never actually met the bastard face to face, though he did on occasion get to listen in and comment the few times Crowley saw fit to call the boys to either give them warnings or ask for favors.

The old hunter (and considering his chosen profession, he was old) hadn’t yet dawn a clear opinion of the demon. He was the first to openly despise Lucifer to the point of wishing him dead that they had the pleasure of meeting. Not only that, he’d willingly handed over the colt… yet that shit eating grin wasn’t winning over Bobby’s gratitude anytime soon.

“What poor sap did you weasel into?”

He didn’t really care for an answer as he was too busy focusing on gripping the wheel’s bars, effectively halting their progression forwards.

“Just some literary agent from New York. No one important.” Crowley assured, his demon enhanced strength officially winning out and the two were back on the move.

“The hell you need me for? I was busy-“

“Nothing Moose and Squirrel can’t handle without you there to hold their hands.”

There it was… That egotism most supernatural beings possessed. It always managed to push Bobby on the offensive.

Before he could get in a good shot, the gun was flung across the sidewalk and skittered into a gutter.

“That’s what happens when you don’t follow the rules.”

“Balls.” The hunter groaned.


	2. More questions than answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! This is long overdue and nothing really amazing, but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

The seasoned hunter believed he should be immune to these kind of situations by now. No matter how well planned and completely natural his day would appear, unexpected turns of events were…… well… expected. 

However, surprise managed to come in the form of a demon… taking him to lunch. 

He found himself sitting adjacent to Crowley in a small yet clean little diner less than two blocks away from the boys. (His boys probably finished already and wondering where the hell he made off to right about now.) 

His captor held a constant smirk and upright posture. The exact opposite of Bobby, who didn’t let up on his scowl and slumped forward to lean his elbows heavily against the table top. 

The demon tilts his head, “What? Not rundown enough for you?” 

The hunter couldn’t help but snort. 

“And here I was thinking this place was a little underclass for your ego.” 

"Touché." Crowley's smirk only stretched, "But this just so happens to be the only place nearby that serves half-way decent food."

Now that would be a sight. Bobby couldn't imagine the demon (the same one trying to plot against the devil himself) milling around town examining all the possible food options for lunch. So much for staying under the radar.

"And how-" 

"What may I get you today, gentlemen?" A prim little voice from Bobby's left asks. 

Bobby was interrupted by a relatively young waitress, her expression apologetic after realizing her lack of manners. The hunter couldn't bring himself to be angry and his frown lessened somewhat.

"Nothing for me." 

She turned to the demon expectantly only for him to tsk. 

"If you'll come back to us, I think we both need another minute or two." He says, narrowing a pointed glare at Bobby. 

She nodded and scurried away, once again leaving the two alone together. The chairbound man opened his mouth in protest only to be cut off by his captor.

"Might as well order something." he suggests, face contorting into a mildly put upon expression as he softly brushes the wrinkles out the front of his suit, "We're already here and I'm offering to pay for it out of the goodness of my heart."

"This isn't some half-assed attempt to whine and dine me into selling my soul, is it?"

"Of course not." He said and raised two placating hands, palms open to emphasize his no-ill-will bullshit, "... But I wouldn't mind an extra soul in my pocket, if you're offering."

Bobby scoffed and peered down at the menu and humored the idea of ordering the most expensive dish. However, upon glancing at that victorious smirk spread shamelessly wide across the other man's face, he decided against it. Besides, demons don't really care for money or else they would only choose to posses rich folk.

"I'll have a drink."

"Of what?"

"Water."

"Unacceptable."

That smile is waning. A small victory, but the hunter would take what he could get at this point.

"Coffee then?" Bobby offers, instinctively checking his pocket for his flask only to realise it's filled with cheap booze instead of the usual holy water. Sadly enough, he didn't plan on facing any demons today. Their target was a witch and therefore unaffected by a dose of blessed water....... Just his luck.

A deep sigh emits from the supernatural being, his head dipped in resignation.

"Fine. I doubt we have enough time for a proper meal anyways."

Two wins. The demon's smile is notably absent and Bobby managed to avoid food all together. (A possible bonus if the caffine helps alleviate the hunter's steadily increasing headache.)

Crowley then proceeds to try and flag down the young waitress, however, his gestures go unnoticed. After another minute of silence, Bobby can't quite shake his curiosity over the situation in which he finds himself.

"Why am I here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the demon asks, "I've only staked my very existence against my own kind. I'd like to know a little about the people I'm working with."

It's true. The hunter had to admit he'd rather work with familiar comrades than a complete stranger.... Maybe this meeting could be mutually beneficial for them both?

The waitress finally returns and Crowley takes it upon himself to order for the both of them. Two cups of coffee is quickly scrawled onto her little notepad and then she's making her way across the room.

Bobby's hands are still busy reaquainting himself with the few supplies he DID bring. So far he's come up with two knives(one iron and one silver), a matchbox, extra saltrocks for the gun, and a cross. He can't pull a knife in here, it'd make a scene an possibly get him in trouble with the police. Fire was useless. The salt rocks would make a sound if he tried to spike the demon's drink with 'em (unlike that holy water he oh-so conveniently left at home). Maybe he could get away with pegging Crowley in the face with the cross? It wouldn't be much, but he'd certainly feel a whole lot better about being there.

"Why didn't you just give me a little warning in advance? You know... Instead of pulling me out of a witch hunt?"

"And give you time to prepare a demon's trap and increase the chances of the Winchesters interfering? Do you really think those boys would let you alone with me if they knew?"

Bobby wasn't even sure if he would've told Sam and Dean if Crowley had asked to meet in advance, but if he did (or they found out)... "No, they wouldn't." he admitted, turning to face the window.

Those two were sure taking their sweet ass time. 

He's pulled from his thoughts by the soft clinking of ceramic mugs against the wooden table. The demon is already doctoring his beverage with creamer and sugar. Even then, Crowley manages to look all too proper, as if manners and presentation cancel out whatever choices had him damned in the first place....yet, strangely enough, Bobby can't help but feel like he's missing something. Something small or nigh imperceptible. Whatever it is, it helps him relax a little.

Bobby actually adds a bit of creamer before helping himself to a few sips of his own coffee (instead of trying to find a way out of this mess like he should be).

Three distant gunshots ring out and the old hunter can't help but curse.

No doubt someone is calling the police right now, and he's not at the house to answer any calls. Hopefully the boy's IDs will be taken at face value, however unlikely that would be.

"Maybe I've overestimated them and they do need someone to hold their hands." Crowley muses with a chuckle.

Bobby's retort falls upon deaf ears as none other than Dean rushes past the diner, his jacket speckled with blood and sporting a couple loose chicken feathers. The Winchester then skids to a stop before slowly backing up. He has to do a double take when the demon offers a small wave. Dean rushes the door.

"I believe our time has been officially cut short." Crowley says, sliding out from his spot.

He quickly deposits a wad of cash on the table. Bobby is halfway between deciding whether to reprimand the boy for taking so long and thanking him when an unnaturally strong grip hoists him up an inch off his wheelchair by the front of his jacket. Soft lips press against his own and then the grip vanishes. Bobby falls back into his seat and Crowley is gone.

The whole diner is eerily silent (whether it's from Dean's appearance or Crowley's disappearance or whatever, he doesn't care).

The younger hunter's lips thin as he steps forwards, a single eyebrow raised.

"Care to explain what just happened?"

No, no he didn't. He wasn't quite sure what just transpired either, so he left it at-

"Son of a bitch bought me coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :]

**Author's Note:**

> Like?  
> I appreciate comments, and while you certainly don't have to, it encourages me to write more faster.


End file.
